Dancing Through Time
by something in the wind
Summary: Bella Swan, ordinary high school girl. Well, this normal girl happens to be dragged into a different time after she is pushed to commit suicide. Oh, and in time traveling she meets Edward Cullen and his pigheaded fiance' who hates her. Normal, really?


**A/N: **Alright, so here is the theatrical first chapter that will have the least dialogue in the entire story. If I continue it or not. Also, please remember this is fiction so if the High School seems extremely fake, forgive me, I know what happens in this chapter would _most likely_ never happen in a real High School.

If you are confused, are interested in being a **co-author** with me on this project, or just want to make me feel awesome, please contact me.  Reviews, good or bad, are love.

I OWN NOTHING. With the exception of A FEW created characters such as Ronald here and there.

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"Bella." He breathed, his cool breath caressing the sensitive skin of my face. No, not yet…He could wait. Two hours, ten minutes…Even five would be better than now of all times.

I shuddered, mumbling to myself as I groaned rolling over reluctantly to bury my face deep within the comfort of pillows and ocean blue comforters that reminded me of the sea. "Come on, princess…You need to wake up." Ron scolded me, shaking my shoulder aggressively. I clenched my jaw, scrunching my nose like the wild woman and nuzzled myself deeper into the closest thing to a sanctuary. "Dude, if you don't wake up Mom'll be pissed off. Get up, Bells." My irritable, yet peculiarly patient cousin growled.

The seventh morning in a row he has attempted to wake me up from my 'slumber.' I'd say 'just five minutes,' but truth be told I wanted more time to shake off the stupor on my own without having the obnoxious and furious warn me.

"Fuck you, if you want to stay home so badly…" He drifted, and in that very moment in time I should have known better than to leave parts of my neck and ear exposed because Ron would have that smug grin plastered to his face like cement on a sidewalk.

As soon as everything clicked, that same popping noise I had been dreading reached my ears. Cat like reflexes, I flipped onto my back and scooted towards the head of my bed. "No, no, no." I chanted, glowering at Ron as he launched himself into the air until he flopped onto me, his kiwi shampooed, dirty blond hair flying everywhere as he shoved his saliva coated finger into my ear.

"Serves you right, Bells. Now, awaken! Rise from the dead!" Ronald did a backwards somersault as I pressed my back against the headboard to rise. Thoroughly disgusted and awake, I managed to muster up the fiercest face I could.

My generic, mundane, facial features didn't work to my advantage. Ron simply patted his dirty blond hair back into place before finding his own scowl which clearly surpassed my own on the ferocity scale. I was as threatening as a wet kitten in May.

"Esme said it's time to wake up, Bells." Slinging his spiderman backpack over his shoulder, Ron speedily jogged off towards the stairs which clanked and sounded off at his morning 'ode to stairs' began. Two flights of stairs, from the attic to the front door with a nine year old is bound to have it's drawbacks. The privacy was a definite upside for me though, I'd been a loner for quite some time.

I rubbed my now wet ear a hundred times over before even considering rolling out of my bed. Of course, when I did I knew I was awake. The vivid sunrise came to greet me in the most unpleasant way, the brilliant shards of light cutting into my brown eyes like shattered glass giving them the unwanted stinging, burning sensation that left me wishing for the cover of night.

It was always like this in the morning though, I would adjust eventually. Well, until I was sent back to Jacksonville, Florida with my Uncle Carlisle. During the school year, I would spend my days with my Aunt Esme who, I had to admit, was a fascinating, decent, phenomenal woman. No doubt one of the last women who weren't complete bitches who enjoyed guffawing while picking apart girls and boys alike.

Girls were smart and knew how to reach beneath the skin to inject their fatal venom.

I received a healthy dose of it from the Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, and most likely Senior Prom Queen, Lauren Mallory. She was what every mean girl should aspire to be. Leggy, voluptuous, poisonous, cunning, and determined when it came down to what she desired. Which baffled me to a shocking degree because I had nothing, nothing but the hole where my center should be, and she tormented me relentlessly.

I questioned whether it was her pitiful insecurities or backstabbing friends that made her so bitter.

Of course, it was almost the end. This was the final day of my Junior year and then I would finish of my oh so _jovial _high school experience. I could only note one sour thing that I would even remotely miss and he was waiting outside—perfect and beautiful and simply the most genuine person that I have ever met in my black existence in this world.

The light at the end of the tunnel, my savior, my very best friend in this stupid world. Emmett Masen.

He, of course, wasn't like me at all. Emmett was a strong, burly man with ringlets of dark curls piled onto his head skillfully. Dimpled, tan, and muscular, with startlingly warm hazel eyes that leaned more towards brown than anything else. That was only appearance wise, if I went off on our social groups and personalities the exterior would only seem like a kitten being compared to a rat.

Emmett was the football player everyone was able to get along with. Everyone wanted to be around him, his loud laughter, and childlike behavior. Actually, the laughter reminded me of a mountain main who just discovered something astounding, either that or a magical bear that did not completely scare every person off of the face of the earth.

He didn't think much, but whatever came out of his mouth usually wasn't _too_ offensive. I had a feeling he was born without a decent way to screen what he is thinking before he says them, but in a sense that only made him madly honest which was a good trait to have. Emmett didn't give people bullshit, if he had something to say, he'd say it. To be honest, it felt embarrassing even partly describing Emmett.

The best part to him was that he had an amazing heart.

If there was such a thing as love, I guess I'd say I loved Emmett. But love was not something that existed in my world and there was no way someone as good as him would want someone as pathetic and pessimistic as me.

Even if such feelings did exist, I knew they would only last so long on both sides once it was experienced. I was a strong girl and I had a tough skin so it was easy for the most part to ignore whatever feeling I had for that man.

It was a small prickle of what was once a ravenous fire with others.

I stretched myself, back bending and falling flat on my ass because, well, I was uncoordinated and as flexible as a broomstick.

Once I rose from the floor and selected my conservative outfit of a light blue shirt, dark loose jeans, and a jacket that was a as black as the night sky and fell to my knees, I glumly wandered towards the dusty window. Cob webs and fly corpses hung near the frame of it and I merely ignored them as I gazed blankly out the slightly heavily fogged window.

I never used this window before, because all I or anyone else could see if they took a peek was the old cottage that belonged to people who had died only a year ago.

The yellow house that once belonged to the old woman, Rosalie, who recently died. I met Rosalie once, and to be honest, once was enough. That woman was as insane and bitter as they get. With faded blond hair, strong ocean eyes, and a sunken face she would look like any normal woman. Maybe I was looking into my own future.

There stood the tree beside the ridiculous canary house, scarred and petrified as it was ominous and frightening. The children who frolicked in the neighborhood always played freeze tag around the corner had been tossing around names and made quite a matter over something that had most likely been since their great grandparents time. I even had to admit to the uncanny characteristics of the _thing_. It loomed over the house next door and made it's presence known to the outsiders who were simply passer byers by the air the tremendous hunk of vertical, splintered wood.

The tree had thick, distinct markings encrusting it's base as if it were seared or branded by a blistering piece of metal that would sing in triumph before having an animal paw at it incessantly. Branches were half torn off, hanging dangerously off of what was attached to the trunk which made it perfectly obvious that it was going to rot and decay like any organism.

It was fated to die, just like the rest of us. I laughed a silent laugh to myself at my own pessimistic views. It was definitely a fact, though. Death was not an option for the willing. Soon, just like that pathetic, glum tree, my skin would wrinkle and weaken, my bones would be a frail, glass structure of what it used to be, and I would find that my hands would be just as twisted as its, too.

Just like this broken, lonesome tree, I'd be alone. Hell, I was already broken on the inside, it was only a matter of time before my own cracks reached the surface and chipped like paint on a mask.

Time. Endless. Limited. Eternal. Brief.

Time was a different concept for many. Optimists considered 'love' timeless, and what I would say to myself was that I would have to disagree. I was a relatively logical girl, I knew what lasted and what didn't.

From my experiences, this _"eternal love" _that they were spewing was just like the ghosts that shined brilliantly in Charlie Brown's eyes on President's Day. Meaning, for me, love was inconstant. Barely existent in the world. Such ridiculous concepts to honestly believe that love could only give when in actuality it would take.

This feeling, this emotion, was a ghost. Many claimed that it is there yet they have not seen it, but a rare few have actually seen it. Love was in fairytales. That's where you'd find it.

Anyone who said otherwise, were getting their hopes too high for their own good. It'd destroy them later, either that or they'd take the typical road to walk and lay in bed eating gallons of ice cream while watching '_When Harry Met Sally_.'

Men were even _less_ consistent, so when I went off on thinking about this pixie of torture, this thing called love, I pondered what men would do in cases where they actually _wanted _to stay in a relationship because of a fickle woman.

I'd give up within two seconds. Because to be honest, it was a complete waste of my time. I would have much rather sat down for a few hours and read about these ideal loves or possibly adventures that had absolutely no romance or connections of love in them. Then, I found out love is inescapable in literature. There were different shades, degrees of impossible, fantasy loves. Whether it be the love of a mentor or of a lover, it all was faintly unrealistic.

But the unrealistic was comforting sometimes when wanting to escape the harsh truth that blinded us all. It's called reality, and I loathed it thoroughly because of what existed in it.

Those beautiful fairytales that I could never have haunted me, the hope from my past draining me of everything entirely until I amounted to what everyone else saw today. Because, judging by the way I acted and the way I was now, you would never be able to guess that I was the little girl who dreamt of becoming a princess when she was older. The little girl who danced in pretty pink ribbons with sunlight streaming through the window as she spun in circles wildly in the delicate rose and sunset colored dress.

My Dad, Charlie, would tell me every day I was the most lovely of all the princesses and in response I'd giggle, my laughing filling the room with wind chimes and flowers as he pressed a tender kiss to my forehead with his chapped lips. I was what every couple wanted as a toddler, sugar, spice, and just a pinch of impish mischief.

I was alright with not having those fairytales, I guess. It couldn't last forever because I of all people knew that nothing in this wrathful world was eternal. It was measured by each tick of the clock.

Disney characters belonged to these. Of course, I was **definitely **okay with that when I analyzed Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. Both gorgeous, sing-song women who were as shallow and fake as a two foot pool.

They fell in 'love' with their men all too quickly and honestly, you never even got the feel of the characters. I could have even labeled them as anti-feminist if I wanted to, but I'd spare them.

"Ugh, I'm going to be late." I hissed, shaking my head to dispel the daze. Yup, I think too much.

***

I arrived at school exactly thirty minutes, twenty seconds ago. No, I wasn't counting. My leg bounced anxiously as I sat in the front row of the auditorium. I usually avoided sitting this close to the front of _anything_, but Emmett had put a note in my locker this morning saying that it would be cool if I sat in the front.

Of course, I couldn't resist when I thought of that dimpled smile light up his face when he saw I _actually_ decided to sit in the front today. Maybe I'd even get a hug. I blushed crimson at the very thought of being in someone's arms, after so long. Then again, I hadn't wanted to touch anyone. Emmett must have been different in some way though, right?

The pepper rally began once all of the seats were jam packed with talkative, immature, hormonal, teenagers. The seniors who were sitting behind the Juniors were sitting proud, like lions would if they were trying to be intimidating. Freshman squeaked and squealed while the Sophomores rolled their eyes at their behavior, trying to disregard their own behavior when they were Freshman. In response to that, I ignored it completely. It was the vicious cycle of high school. The higher in class you were, the "better" you were. That's a shocking resemblance to life after and during college.

Soccer players, lacrosse players, chess players, palms, and finally the football players came out. My insides barely squirmed as I saw my giant bear of a friend trotting out with his arm around Quil's shoulders, hooting and hollering. They came through like a bunch of savages, but in that moment, I couldn't help but feel slightly giddy. Emmett was so happy…It made _me _happy.

Suddenly, Emmett's head swerved toward me, his locks of hair swaying as he did so. Utter confusion graced his baby face before a wide grin, as wide as the width of an oak, graced his face as he gave a silent wave to me. I smiled my own timid smile, the blood creeping back up to color my pallid cheeks once more. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, because for the first time in years I felt somewhat human. Almost **normal.**

"**BEARS! MASEN! MASEN!"** The teenagers chanted, and for a second, I was contemplating shouting with them just to see if Emmett would get a kick out of it. I knew he would if I did. The quiet, loner Bella cheering and looking full of life at a pep rally, God, hadn't I realized by now that even high school fairytales couldn't exist? I guess in that moment, I was too absorbed in my new, weak bliss that I couldn't remember that fairytales could not roll themselves into horror novels.

Because in that next moment, my life came crashing down, bringing me back to my own personal reality. Real, dark, and horrendous.

"Bella. Hey, we need to get you up here. We wanted to get someone up here, random selection. Nothin' against you, babe." Lauren Mallory's strawberry glossed lips smacked disgustingly in front of my face as I stared, horrified and shell shocked by how she addressed me in public. I should have known, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet she was up to no good.

She and Jessica Stanley, who Emmett once referred to as fish faced Stan, dragged me onto my feet and stood me in front of the whole student body. My entire body shook, the adrenaline coursing through my body was surreal as the blood pumped so loudly it throbbed in my temple and pulsed behind my left ear.

"We wanted to end this on a sweet note. For many of us this is our last year at Bear Valley High and I wanted to make this rally super-memorable." Shut the fuck up.

Let me go back. Let me be alone again, I enjoy not being embarrassed. Beside, what did I have to do with Lauren's sick twisted end of year special? I exhaled a held breath and glanced at Emmett who was staring right back at me with those devastating hazel brown eyes and I knew that look all too well. It was the '_what the fuck? Get away!" _look. Oh, how I wanted to.

"Since Bella joined us in Freshman year, she's been all alone. Aww." God, kill me now. If you love me, if you even fucking exist, kill me.

"Sophomore year, Bella was introduced to Emmett Masen, also known as our super-quarterback. Well, since Sophmore year our little Bella has been crushing on Em." She got to the point, definitely cutting to the chase. And that is what killed me inside, because I had no idea it was coming. Tears began to well in my chocolate eyes as a fit of chuckles, whistles, and awing ensued.

It was fearsome and rowdy. I recognized James's caustic voice making snide remarks, telling Emmett that maybe if I got a new face and breast implants that he should 'tap that.' My heart broke into hundreds of tiny, unsolvable pieces. I would not be able to crawl out of this hole. Not this time.

"Wait. There's something else. She has been just _dying _to tell Emmett, so, now, it's your chance Bella." A few of the cheerleaders behind me chortled and giggled like jackals. I blanched, the tears almost too difficult to hold back while they blurred my vision. I shook my head, clearing enough suppressed tears to see Emmett's god-like face. It was absolutely filled with emotions.

None of them good, none of them considered by many as too bad. But in my book it was so much worse. Because what was on his face was not loathing, I could have dealt with hatred, but no….It was sadness, guilt, and denial. It proved my original theory correct…Emmett was my friend and would only ever be my friend.

And he was sad not because of a dead puppy or a break-up, but because his friend was in pain because she _liked_ him.

Even worse, I would never be able to love. If this had indeed been love, I never wanted it to exist in my world again. The third and final fucking time this would happen to me. I would **not** let myself hurt like this anymore.

Not let this overwhelming agony consume me for as long as I lived.

It had to end, and it had to end now.

So I did what I should have done in the first place.

I _**ran. **_

I ran so fast that everything that passed by me was a bland blur of color. My lungs worked in over time as I choked back my sobs and crashed through the entrance door. Mrs. Cope stared in disbelief at me as she rushed to dial a number. No doubt my Aunt.

Esme would be worried sick. I had just feeling outside of my embarrassment and horror to feel empathy for her when the secretary called her.

Then again, I still couldn't feel enough empathy or regret for the decision I was about to make to stop myself.

***

I did not answer the phone that vibrated in my pocket like a jitterbug. I did not return home, because after I went in once, I found exactly what I had been craving. What I had needed. Sleek, keen, and long, the blade scattered the spare sunlight that cast itself upon the knife like diamonds as my numb body tumbled and stumbled towards the old cottage behind the house. I was numbed by the pain of it all. I couldn't focus correctly, it was as if the pain of it all, my anguish, had become so powerful that it ceased to allow my brain any coherency.

But I did know what I wanted.

The high blades lush grass bended and crumpled under my dead feet as I walked on towards the tacky yellow that was in the shape of an odd rectangle-square. My eyes were too tear-soaked and sore that the yellow strained my eyes, so I turned my head away before hammering my eyes closed. I knew where it was, I did not have to suffer any more than I already had. I was a selfish creature, selfish and stupid, but this had been the last straw.

Emmett was not the first person I let behind my stone walls. I knew now that he just had to be the last, before someone else ignored my clear warning sign that had been as obvious as enormous letters printed on a building.

I reached the house, weary and numb. The knife was dangling from my hand as I stopped directly in front of it. Old Rose's house was just as eerie and abnormal as it had been before, except now there was no old woman to accompany the house. I couldn't decide whether or not I was grateful for that or not. Maybe because right now I just couldn't care enough.

My dull, brown eyes trailed the house and it's surroundings lazily as my heart tugged on my body like a thousand pound anvil, pleading me to collapse.

Releasing a strangled, dry sob, I staggered towards the broken tree that decorated the canary house. I knew at that very moment I would die by that tree. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt as if the tree and I had, had something in common from the get-go. Both damaged, both rotting from the inside out. We fit.

Aging and hallow inside.

My back collided with the decrepit tree and my body followed suit, sliding down theatrically down the decomposing bark. The knife lay heavy in my right hand as I wept tearlessly to the clouded sky. I grew hopeless as my heart wrenched, crying for me to end the crushing agony. I poised the thin blade for just above my heart, and exhaled. I wanted to leave a reminder of my existence, anything would work. By my actions and what happened earlier, I figured that since I was already acting pathetic and whiny to the extreme I may as well do what I had done to one of my bed posts.

I clutched my torso, holding myself together as I used the tree as support to help me onto my feet. It was a good tree.

Pieces of moss and damp bark clung to my enormous midnight jacket and tear soaked jeans like needles through a yarn ball, making me more look like a vagabond who has been wandering aimlessly.

What I wanted to do was now going to be my very final, and very _stupid_, act. I gripped the knife between my sweaty hand and carved a heart into the tree. It was not a masterpiece, but it would do. I continued to etch until my heart was finished and then moved the shining blade to the center of the heart where I scratched on one of the most idiotic and ridiculously generic things a person could on a piece of putrid wood.

_**B.S.**_

_**E.M. **_

It was good enough, and I had no idea why the urge to place both of our initials on there was so powerful, but it drove me to do so.

My frail hand ghosted across the lettering and traced the heart as I pressed my forehead against it. "I knew I couldn't belong to fairytales, but thanks for at least showing me kindness when I didn't deserve it." I spoke the words, letting a few silvery, tears stream down my face like rivulets.

Before I could even blink, my entire world crumbled and toppled around me.

_***_

A blanket of darkness was hovering over my eyes and blinding me. Keeping me without any real, distinct light. I squeezed my eyes, musing if this was either heaven or hell. I deserved Hell, but I could not feel the searing pain that was supposed to engulf my being and make me beg for mercy. Not only that, but instead of a thousand screaming souls there was one, lone voice. Except it was not tortured or shrill. It was smooth as velvet and almost mesmerizing. The voice sounded human, so I wondered if it were possible if I were in Heaven with this human…Or something else entirely.

"Hello?" The lovely, satin voice called again. I did not want to dispel the beautiful voice, but if I continued on like this I'd no doubt feel the need to slap myself for it later.

With a resigned sigh, I heaved my eyes open to find myself gazing into emerald green eyes. I very nearly gasped, because no Hell could ever have someone like _him_ here. He was much too boyish, too lovely to belong in a place of fire and damnation. My fairytales never involved angels, but some imbecile's stories did and I refused to believe in angels.

That is until one was staring right into my face.

"Miss, are you alright?" The boy queried, dabbing something wet on my cheeks and above my eyes.

"Eh…What? No, well, I guess…I kind of expected…You know, death to be more peaceful. Actually, I half expected to be in Hell. I am dead…So, does that make you dead too?" I was slurring and talking in words that didn't even make sense to myself, so I suppose that looking back I could see why the emerald-eyed angel was so bemused with my words.

"I'm not following you, Miss, but I assure you that _you_ are not dead and that I most definitely am not either." He stated, dotting my face again with a wet, ragged warmth. It felt phenomenal against my skin, the roughness of the towel did not even enter my mind at that moment. The angel's face became clearer as I ogled him, trying to make sense of why he was slightly blurred and doubled. Resting the damp cloth on the oak table beside where I laid, disoriented and completely useless, he placed a warm, soft hand over my forehead. He had extraordinarily smooth hands for a man.

Either because I had not touched a boy in over a year or because the boy was genuinely as soft and warm to everyone else. I'd bet Emmett's hands were just as nice, possibly better.

The place I was dreaming of was quaint, but old fashioned. There were polished, wooden stairs, cream colored vases with columbines and delicate wild flowers hanging from it, ancient paintings, and a door that had three pairs of peculiarly old fashioned shoes beside it. One of which reminded me of Grandma Swan's.

Separate from all of the other lovely items and furniture, what struck me the most was a grandfather clock standing proud in the nearby corner, it's dull gold pendulum swinging back and forth, distracting me and leaving my eyes a single, clear target.

Swinging, swinging, tick, tock, tick. My eyes began to droop as they mimicked the motions of the slow moving pendulum. Back, forth, back forth.

"Esmmie." I mumbled my Aunt's name sleepily. I was wondering where she was, or if Esme knew I was so deeply asleep near old woman Rosalie's house, or more likely, dead.

My left eyes lazily seeked out the emerald-eyed boy and locked on his form. He seemed panicked as I pathetically attempted to move my hand in a gesture for him to come closer. I had to call Esme if I could, tell her I was sorry for everything. This oddly peaceful, bizarre purgatory had to have some sort of communication with the living world.

The boy's face moved away slightly and before I could even get another word out, darkness befell me again and the angel was the last thing I saw as my eyelids closed.

***

_I don't wanna live  
I don't wanna breathe  
'less I feel You next to me  
You take the pain I feel _

_Waking up to you never felt so real  
I don't wanna sleep  
I don't wanna dream  
Cause my dreams don't comfort me  
The way You make me feel  
Waking up to You never felt so real_

I hate living without You  
Dead wrong to ever doubt You  
But my demons lay in waiting  
Tempting me away  
Oh how I adore you  
Oh how I thirst for you  
Oh how I need you

Comatose by Skillet

**A/N: Tell me what you think, please.**

**If you have seen this posted two other times on fanfiction that would be because they were test drives for spacing, length, etc. Sorry, lol.**

**Reviews are like Ryan Styles' blue shoes under the Christmas tree. **


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